


every stone in this city keeps reminding me

by ifimightchime



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Character Study, Gen, Guilt, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifimightchime/pseuds/ifimightchime
Summary: Abigail reflects on her family and the need to be outside.





	every stone in this city keeps reminding me

**Author's Note:**

> Written, though unposted, for halfamoon prompt "nature". This kind of rambles and peters out, but I _really_ wanted to write about Abigail and the outdoors and also dealing with what her father did, because I have a lot of thoughts on both of those things.
> 
> Title from Florence + The Machine's _Mother_ , because I had it on repeat the entire time I was writing this.

They bought the house when Abigail was too young to remember; there are pictures of her on move-in day, tucked in her mother's arms, the two of them beaming at the camera and at Dad behind it. She doesn't have the memories, but she's heard the stories from her parents about her toddling around, still a little unsteady on her own feet, instantly as in love with it as they had been. They'd worried a little about if it was the right move, but her parents had done most of their falling in love outdoors, hiking together, camping, and they'd wanted more of it in their lives. Anyway, their fears hadn't lasted long. Her mother used to tell stories about it; how she used to beg to go outside every day, no matter how how hot or cold, how she took to climbing trees almost as fast as she took to walking, how every time she'd do something worth rewarding she'd ask to set up the tent and sleep outside for the night.

Abigail tries to focus on that, on the feel of her mother's hand brushing back her hair, her fond smile. She tries not to think of her father's hand on her shoulder, his quiet smile as he watched the two of them from across the kitchen, of his arm snaking around Mom's waist to startle a laugh out of her. She tries not to think about him even in the good days, because it turns into the bad days too fast, and then instead of thinking about how much she missed being outside, she thinks in questions instead.

_Could he have done it if we'd lived somewhere else? Would he have the room, would he have the chance? Would he have wanted to? Did he always want to? Was I an excuse? If I was an excuse, why did he make me a part of it? If I wasn't, what does that say about me?_

Even the questions don't feel as heavy outside, and she hates that, because it makes her feel like her mother's daughter, and her father's, and once she liked that. She liked how she grew up climbing trees, climbing mountains, sleeping under the skies, how she'd wanted to learn everything they knew. Her mother had taught her how to swim and how to recognize plants, but her mother had never liked to hunt. She'd wanted to know, though, and maybe if she hadn't asked, maybe if she couldn't bring herself to shoot that first deer, maybe if she'd hated the woods, maybe if she hadn't liked the house, maybe if she'd been a different girl altogether, maybe none of it would have happened, maybe she could have stopped it, maybe that makes it her fault.

Maybe all of it was her fault, and she'll have to learn to live with that, one way or another. Maybe she should become someone else, someone who likes the roofs and walls, someone who doesn't want to run to the woods, who doesn't miss that house no matter how many terrible things happened there. But there's still a part of her that settles when she sneaks out, a part of her that's a little bit calmer, that can ask the questions without wanting to scream, that can think a little easier.

It isn't much. It isn't anything, really. But these days, it's all she has.


End file.
